"You're awfully kind," said Marjorie, presenting her shoulders to Mrs. Whitcomb, who asked with malicious sweetness: "Why didn't your husband do this for you this morning?"
"I—I don't remember," Marjorie stammered, and Mrs. Wellington tossed over-shoulder an apothegm: "He's no husband till he's hook-broken."
Just then Mrs. Fosdick came out of her stateroom. Seeing Mrs. Whitcomb's waist agape, she went at it with a brief, "Good morning, everybody. Permit me."
Mrs. Wellington twisted her head to say "Good morning," and to ask, "Are you hooked, Mrs. Fosdick?"
"Not yet," pouted Mrs. Fosdick.
"Turn round and back up," said Mrs. Wellington. After some maneuvering, the women formed a complete circle, and fingers plied hooks and eyes in a veritable Ladies' Mutual Aid Society.
By now, Wedgewood was ready to appear in a bathrobe about as gaudy as the royal standard of Great Britain. He stalked down the aisle, and answered the male chorus's cheery "Good morning" with a ramlike "Baw."
Ira Lathrop felt amiable even toward the foreigner, and he observed: "Glorious morning this morning."
"I dare say," growled Wedgewood. "I don't go in much for mawnings—especially when I have no tub."
Wellington felt called upon to squelch him: "You Englishmen never had a real tub till we Americans sold 'em to you."